You stumble down the steps of Terrace,
All alone, and all embarrassed.
Your friend said she’d walk back with you
(You should have known that wasn’t true.)
Those vodka shots wore off real quick—
A few more would have done the trick.
You’re freezing, and a little sad…
How many years left until grad?
Maybe your standards are too high.
You should have gone for that cute guy,
But his teeth stuck out like a beaver.
Did he think you had a fever
When he whispered “you’re so hot”?
Or… was he tryna shoot his shot?
These games of love are not for you—
You prefer Scrabble and Guess Who?
You cross the street at Harrison
And suddenly, a garrison
Of freshman girls, all blonde and thin,
Stumble past you, all hair and skin—
(Such is the bliss of drunken youth!)
You hope they trip and chip a tooth.
But you’ll get no action tonight…
You trudge beneath the dim streetlight,
Wondering why no fish would bite—
You are scantily clad, all right!
This bodysuit made your aims clear,
But now it’s covered in spilled beer.
Oh, forget boys– you’re done with them.
You check your phone—it’s 3 AM.
Yikes. You had plans to work at 8.
Now, since you failed to find a date,
You’re left with unrequited lust.
This evening was a total bust—
You bruised your leg and hurt your pride.
You reach your dorm, and right outside
You realize that you lost your prox.
(Damn Princeton and their bougie locks!)
With no one but yourself to blame,
You now conclude the Walk of Lame.